


Unsound

by VesperRegina



Category: Galileo (TV Japan)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Pillow Talk, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperRegina/pseuds/VesperRegina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Follows the events of "Illogical" by haladflire65.)  Yukawa and Utsumi take a weekend off to spend some time at a ski resort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haladflire65](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haladflire65/gifts).



> This is a direct sequel and I would advise that you read "[Illogical](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7195053/1/Illogical)" before reading this, if you haven't already. I can't express my thanks to haladflire65 enough for giving me the permission to play in her sandbox, with this version of Yukawa and Utsumi, and also to Ahria for putting together a list of prompts for an informal Christmas fanwork drive. I chose the prompt of 'snow' with something far more fluffy in mind, but the scenes in this sequel took form after I did research on how to best interpret the prompt. Thank you so much, both of you. I hope you, and everyone else in the _Galileo_ fandom, enjoy this present. Apologies if anything seems unpolished. I finished writing the draft seven days before Christmas and only had about three days to edit. Thanks to Lyl for beta-reading, and always giving me more confidence in my own work. I appreciate it greatly! *falls over*

\-----  
‘overcast’  
\-----

Utsumi's phone chimed, signaling a message, and she reached for it on the stand beside her bed, eyes closed, reluctant to open them more than just a slit. Who would dare, besides work, send her mail at the ungodly hour of one AM? She fumbled for it, even though the chiming had stopped. It could be important. Her reaching for it only succeeded in knocking it off the side, down in the crack between bed and nightstand. She swore softly, then said, "I'd just gone to sleep." She sat up, not bothering to push her hair out of her eyes, and reached down, shivering as cold crept up the skin of her arms, thin t-shirt doing nothing to keep her warm, exposed now that her blanket had fallen down. She found the phone and pulled the blanket back over her, up to her chin, and rolled to the side, peering at the faint blue light from the screen.

The message read, "We'll be traveling by rail, so prepare accordingly."

She blinked, pushed her hair out of her eyes and said, loudly, "Huh?"

No one answered. Of course not. She read over the message again, lingering on the sender’s name for a long time. She pressed buttons to return the message, before closing out and just dialing directly.

"I was try -- I was asleep, Sensei," she said, as soon as he answered. "Not everyone keeps hours like you."

"I'm sorry," he said, and she heard nothing but an abashed sincerity, "my intention was that you would read it in the morning."

"Well, I'm up now. You're serious about this?" She passed the phone to her other ear and stared up at her ceiling, only visible as a dark blotch, then covered her eyes with her free hand. "You really want me to come with you to Karuizawa."

"I thought I'd made that clear."

Utsumi lowered her hand to her mouth, covering it, and closing her eyes. It was her turn to speak, her turn to say something, and not let dead silence speak terrible implications for her, but the necessity to gather her wits about her was as implacable as quicksand. It was going to require a steady hand to unmire her.

"You don't want to come, do you?" Yukawa's voice dipped lower, and for some reason, Utsumi pictured him as stepping back, his lashes dropping down to shelter his eyes, shuttered and withdrawn. Her imagination was probably far grander than whatever he was actually doing, but the image still flooded her with hot guilt, and an instinctive defiance she wasn't sure was quite justified.

There was nothing for it, though, but to give voice to her misgivings, no matter that she could only manage a blunt response. "It's a bad idea, don't you think? I mean..."

"I'll go by myself." It was an immediate response, and it spurred Utsumi into popping her eyes open and propping herself up a little, one elbow digging into her mattress. Yukawa continued, with no hesitance, "I'm sorry to interrupt your sleep. Good -- "

"Sensei, wait. I was just -- I've heard stories about avalanches and -- " She put her hand over her heart; it had leapt into a faster rhythm at the thought that he would end the call. It was an impulse to stop him, and she shook her head at herself. She couldn't make up her mind? How wishy-washy of herself, but the fact remained that no matter how instinctual her opposition was, it had nothing on trying to keep him safe.

"That's a concern, of course, but the courses are well-groomed. It's only when the snowpack is unable to support -- "

She cleared her throat and he stopped talking. "I'll go. Tell me what time to meet you and I'll be there."

"After your work. I thought rail would be better -- by car for just a weekend would be very draining for you."

'How considerate of you,' she thought, but she pressed her lips together before uttering such a sarcastic response. It was a good idea -- two and a half hours on her own was a distance even if she'd done it before -- but she still felt like making it known she was disagreeable. "There's no way I'd make that kind of trip all on my own, anyway," she answered. "You know how to drive. You'd take half the trip... and you've planned this all out without me, so it doesn't matter what I say, right?"

He sighed, and it filled her ear, loud enough for her to draw the phone away from the side of her head. "You were going to say no," he said, resigned.

"I was thinking about it, I said! Besides, I don't even own a snowboard -- "

"I suppose that such excuses are simply your way of saying that it's late and as I've already interrupted your sleep sufficiently, I don't see how discussing an alternate method will be conducive to your getting rest -- "

"Oh no, you don't -- "

"Good night, Utsumi-kun. I'll see you at the train."

"Sensei!"

For a moment, her protest rang in her ears, but she could still hear the subliminal hum of background noise that she recognized as the lab, so he definitely hadn't cut the line. She paused, trying to make her brain articulate apologies for her recalcitrance -- nothing came to mind.

Eventually, Yukawa filled the void. "Thank you for agreeing to accompany me." Utsumi closed her eyes, her face going pinched and worried. Such a soft edge to his voice, as though he were in pain, and she'd heard it lately, too often, that edge, too often to ignore it.

She swallowed, turned over again in her bed, and heard an inhalation of breath that made it obvious that he hadn't thought about where she was, how late it was, how much of an imposition and intimacy it was to be speaking with her. She took a long, steadying -- obvious -- breath, and said, "I don't know what we're going to do for all those hours on a train."

The pressure from her position was making her pulse reverberate in her ears. She turned her head.

"You've spent longer lengths of time in my presence. I'm sure we'll think of something. Good night, Utsumi-kun."

"Good night, Sensei."

She didn't close her phone, just rested it beside her head, fingers curled around it, loose, looking into empty space with the absent gaze of shock. 'Longer lengths of time'? He _had_ been trying to be considerate, regardless of how she'd reacted. Now, she'd said she'd go and all for one undeniable reason. She said, "So. This is how you show him you care, huh?"

She put the phone to sleep.

Two hours later, she sent a message, pushing buttons with more force than necessary and going for broke in the constant negotiation of what was proper and what was rude, "I can't sleep. Thanks to you." She silenced the phone to his number only, and going back to sleep came with more ease -- proof that, despite how rude it was to mention it, it was the correct choice. 

In the morning, the return message simply read, "I'm looking forward to it, too."

\-----

Utsumi fidgeted, despite the comfort of the seat on the train. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, angled herself into the side of the window and seat, shifted so that her back was against the seat, stiff and upright, and a stubborn nuisance because it would not give. She snuck a glance to her left. Yukawa had his eyes closed, head back against the neck-rest of the chair -- of course, for him, it served its function. For her, it was at least a handspan above the top of her head. She stuck her lips out in a brief pout, snorted quietly, and told herself to settle down, lips moving soundlessly.

She pulled her purse up, rummaged for her music player, its power cord, and her headphones. Might as well. It appeared as though Yukawa had checked out for the time being. She put the earbuds in, but after she'd plugged the player into the outlet in the seat and spent five minutes searching for something she wanted to listen to, she was forced to come to the conclusion that it was a fruitless search. She put the player in her lap and rolled her eyes. 

She looked at Yukawa, eyes still closed, hands loosely clasped in his lap. It was an opportunity to study him, and she took it, confident he wouldn't catch her. She'd had those opportunities too often lately, sitting in impersonal hospital rooms, fear tight across her shoulders, guilt sour in her throat, burning up into her eyes. She'd come close to messy bawling in his presence -- but that was a line she never wanted to cross. It was fine to cry, but to make a person like Yukawa responsible for it? Looking at his face now, even when he was unaware, brought all that up into her throat again, the pain still far too present -- she turned her head away, closing her eyes, hands growing tight around her music player. 

She'd held his hand, as he slept. Her own felt empty now. The formless black feeling of being unable to do anything was still sticky and unwelcome, dragging her down when she least expected it. She could almost go to sleep now, after two months, without seeing blood when she closed her eyes, but that always seemed to return in her sleep. She had no control over her dreams. It was useless to contemplate, but she found her gaze returning to him, focusing on the pale red line of scar tissue down the side of his face, examining it. It was an inescapable reminder that she'd failed her responsibility.

She said, in an effort to cut through the miasma of past events, "I could have driven."

"Are you bored?" he asked.

"You're not asleep." She'd been hoping; not that much of a surprise, but she could never tell.

"It's a long trip. If I sleep the entire time, I won't be able to sleep when we arrive. It's important to maintain a regular routine --"

"Says the man who burns midnight oil when he's supposed to lecture at six in the morning." Yukawa opened his eyes and turned to look at her, with annoyance drawing his eyebrows down, but Utsumi continued, disregarding it, "I don't know how you do it. Oh, wait -- you take naps in my car."

"I don't take naps in your car -- you know that."

"Yes, yes, you're just resting. You're possibly the most cat-like person I know, Sensei."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He smiled, and for once, the corners of his eyes crinkled, like he was enjoying this moment. Like he wasn't actually annoyed.

Her response was automatic. "You should." The merriness in her voice threw her, and she looked out the window, cringing just a little, hoping that her reflection wouldn't give her away -- that exchange was entirely too much like flirting. "Why do you catnap in my car anyway? Am I really that boring?"

"No."

"Admit it, my voice puts you to sleep."

"You seem to be under the impression that would reflect badly on you."

"Really. So my voice -- "

"Isn't all that bad."

"I'm not sure that was a compliment."

"It was."

She said, "Hmph."

Yukawa's eyes went to the side, and Utsumi felt her shoulders tense. Whenever he did that with her, it was a signal that whatever he was going to say was going to be challenging. There was no case -- no topic besides themselves at the moment -- nothing was left to them but the banal and the unsafe for conversation. He said, "Are you --"

"I don't want to hear it --"

" -- anxious about something? The trip with me, perhaps?"

Utsumi crossed her arms. "Can you blame me?"

"I'm not demanding anything from you even if you are here, in my company."

"You want me to ignore you. Not have this conversation, maybe? Because I can do that."

"Ignoring me would be a change, wouldn't it?" 

It took a moment to penetrate, but the wryness with which his comment was delivered made Utsumi smile. She uncrossed her arms. He was going out of his way to be gracious, and despite how strange that was, she could acknowledge it for what it was and attempt to respond in kind.

"I'm sorry; you don't deserve my misguided hostility."

"Why are you worried?"

"I'm not worried. I'm -- I don't know what I am. I'm just -- I'm going to watch the scenery."

"Hmm," he answered, and stood up, reaching above them, to the luggage rack. She glanced up, curious, and heard the rip of a zipper opening. He tugged at something, and her eyes were drawn to the hem of his suit jacket as it swung, and then she heard the zip being drawn closed. He sat down, a thick book in his hand.

She said, "I'd ask you to tell me what that's about, but I probably wouldn't understand a word."

"You underestimate yourself. Anything can be taught."

"I'll pass."

She brought her music player up to where she could read the entries. If she couldn't decide on what to listen to, then she'd just start her entire playlist. She adjusted the volume so that she'd hear anything said to her, and sat back, turning so she could watch the view outside the window. Although the last vestiges of twilight were darkening, the lights were still bright and beautiful. Winter cold was coming through the glass of the window, and she rested her head on it, the contrast between it and the warmth and comfort within attractive to her.

"Utsumi-kun."

She startled as Yukawa touched her on the shoulder. She pulled out one earbud, cross-handed, and ignored how the fingertips of his hand slid down her sleeve, so that his hand came to rest beside her leg. She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to continue.

Yukawa said, "Even though I asked you to come that doesn't mean you have to do anything you're uncomfortable with -- I don't expect you to keep me company. You're free to do whatever you like."

"Have fun, you mean."

"Exactly. Rest will be good for you, too."

"I understand that, Sensei. Okay?" She nodded once to emphasize it.

As if on cue, Yukawa opened his book. "Good," he said.

Utsumi put her earbud back in. She raised the volume, done with being available, and listened as the world outside passed by: soothing, distant, isolated.

It was almost different from driving, because she didn't have to be mindful, but the speed at which landmarks passed had the same effect as highway hypnosis, and she closed her eyes, music still in her ears, vibration of the train under her, and the warmth of Yukawa's presence beside her. She let her hand rest close to her leg, fingers curled, in the space between them, and imagined covering his hand with hers. She could feel the slight motions of his arms as he read, but even that faded, until everything was gone.

\-----  
'drift'  
\-----

Utsumi couldn't help it -- she dropped her luggage as soon as they passed the threshold of the cabin, stunned by the interior. She didn't know what she had expected, but the windows that spanned two walls of the cabin, from ceiling to floor, reflecting the inside of it back, an illusion of isolation, had never crossed her mind. "This place is beautiful!" she exclaimed, feeling her mouth gape.

Yukawa passed her a set of slippers. She closed her mouth, but her eyes remained wide. Yukawa pushed the slippers into her stomach, and she reflexively brought up her hand to cradle them, still taking in the simple, yet tasteful decoration of the main room: the furniture with modern square lines, the soothing neutral colors, the way the beds were placed on a level above the rest of the room, covered by the softest-looking duvets she'd ever seen.

Yukawa said, "It is." She could hear the smile in his voice without looking at him as he agreed.

"I can't imagine how much it would be to reserve a place like this."

"If you're feeling beholden, stop," he said, and Utsumi snapped her gaze to him, sidelong. The mildness of his agreement had been overtaken by a slight bitter pique.

She looked down at the slippers, then back up at him as he went past her, seeing his back and the grey of his half-length coat. He dropped down onto a couch, the cushion giving under his weight in a soft way that she couldn't wait to test herself. He crossed his legs and reached out with one arm to toy with a clear glass vase, set on a table beside him. He pushed it with one finger until it stood more to the center.

Utsumi pursed her mouth and put the slippers on. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked. She adjusted the fit of one foot, wiggling it inside the slipper, an excuse to avoid looking at him.

"No."

"All right." She straightened her shoulders, and looked up, watching him touch the little branch set in the vase. "Thank you for letting me sleep on the train. I didn't intend on dropping off like that; like you said, it's a bad idea, but I couldn't help it -- "

He left off touching the decoration and brought his hand up to his face, fingers curled, apart from his index finger, which traced the line of his scar. Was it conscious or unconscious, that action? "It seemed like you needed the rest."

"Maybe. You stayed up, didn't you? On the train? Do you mind if I draw the blinds?"

She headed across the room without waiting for an answer. Yukawa said, "Are you normally like this at night, or are you trying to cover for being uncomfortable?" As Utsumi approached the windows, she noticed how the inside lights of the cabin were multiplied without, reflecting off the water of a river outside, unfrozen despite the cold. Utsumi closed her eyes at Yukawa's question, for a moment, taking a deep breath, before opening her eyes and reaching for the cord to lower the blinds closest to her.

"You're being very blunt today," she responded.

"Blame it on lack of rest."

She drew the blinds, but didn't turn to him, instead making her way across to another set.

She asked, voice light, curious, "What were your plans for tomorrow? Snowboarding, right?"

"Utsumi-kun..."

She caught sight of him, in the reflection of the window, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped to his forehead. Her face crumpled a little at it; so much damage left to contend with, and her inability to burden him with her honest thoughts was a burden in its own way.

"Never mind," she said, "it's late. I'm not hungry, but I think I'll take a bath."

"I'm hungry," he said, and let his hands fall, looking up at her, faint surprise in his voice.

"Traveling suppresses my appetite," she said. "Does it usually do the same for you?"

He nodded.

"I don't mind. Go, find something to eat. I don't need anything. I'll be fine on my own."

He stood, wrapping his coat around him. Utsumi smiled, but avoided showing her teeth. It would have been a sure clue that it was being forced.

"Enjoy your time alone," Yukawa said.

"I will."

When he shut the door, Utsumi sighed, her shoulders dropping, and she covered her face for a long moment. "I'm not strong enough for this," she said, voice muffled. She uncovered her face, but stood, still, looking at herself in the one remaining uncovered window. She looked lost. She drew the blinds there as fast as she could and then headed over to her luggage, hauling it over to one of the beds, struggling over how the wheels got caught on the step up until she stopped fighting it, and lifted it. She sat down on the bed and then fell back on it, running her hands over the duvet, soft, thick, cream-colored fabric cool to her touch.

\-----

Utsumi groaned, her face scrunching up, as she registered light on her face. She rolled over, and buried her head into her pillow, plucking at the duvet and sheet until she pulled them up under her nose. She drifted in the blackness, then opened her eyes, an indeterminate amount of time later. She bolted up, hair in her eyes and blinking. She stared at the window, blinds open, momentary confusion clutching cold in her stomach about why they were open when they were closed before.

"Good; you're up," Yukawa said, closing his book with a snap and an air of impatience that told Utsumi she'd been asleep far longer than she'd intended.

"What time is it?" she asked, eventually, combing her hair out of her eyes.

"Ten," he answered.

Utsumi flopped down and stared at the ceiling. "You're kidding me."

"You seemed like you would wake an hour and a half ago, but all you did was go back to sleep."

She sat up, and drew her legs up so she could hug her knees. "Really? Why didn't you wake me then?"

"You were asleep when I came back, last night. By the way, if you're hungry, breakfast is there." Yukawa glanced to the side and Utsumi saw that the table had a pitcher of juice and a few containers, the contents of which she couldn't see from her angle. Utsumi felt a yawn encroaching, and covered her mouth with seconds to spare. She raised her arms above her head and stretched her legs out as well, saying, "What time did you come back? I didn't realize when you did." She closed her eyes as she rolled her head from side to side -- it always took some getting used to when she didn't have her own pillows, and the worst effects were always on her neck.

Yukawa didn't answer immediately, and Utsumi paused in a roll of her head to open her eyes and look at him. That was a peculiar look for what she'd been saying. His regard was always just a little shy of rude, so Utsumi shrugged it off with a delicate twitch of one shoulder and said, "Not at my best in the morning, sorry." She started combing through her hair with her fingers, and wiggled her feet under the covers. They were toasty warm. She didn't even feel cold in just her t-shirt and pajama pants. Her fingers caught in a tangle and she said a soft 'ow' to herself.

"You're not really sorry." Utsumi glanced over again. Yukawa took his glasses off, and tucked them away, then placed his book on the seat beside him. He continued, "It was about a quarter to midnight. I thought, perhaps, that you were feigning sleep, but I see now that was an incorrect assumption. I should have known that was true, however, as you had your covers over your head and didn't stir at all while I made ready for bed. You should really eat something if you'd like to come with me. You wouldn't be able to snowboard, but there are other activities."

Utsumi's fingers had stilled in her hair, and then gone down to her lap as Yukawa talked. Her face was now puzzled, and more than a little disbelieving, one eyebrow down, and her mouth tilted at a slant that was almost comical. She said, once it was clear that Yukawa had said all he'd wanted, "Why would I fake sleeping? Why would you even tell me that?"

"To answer your question, I didn't wake you, because if I was wrong, then it was clear that you hadn't been getting enough rest, and it was just a passing thought. It's unusual to encounter someone who sleeps with their head under the covers."

Utsumi sighed. "Is that all? I know it's a strange habit, but I've done it since I was little. You approach things in a really strange way, you know that, Sensei? One minute it feels like you're insulting me, but if I'm just patient and wait, you connect the dots for me. Thanks for letting me rest. I needed it, but you shouldn't have stuck around waiting for me. I told you before, snow sports are intimidating."

"To be accurate, you told me about a bad experience with skiing. There will be no trees to get in your way this time."

Utsumi said, "No, absolutely not. You can't make me. Call me stubborn, I dare you." She pushed the duvet off. She felt too warm to have it on anymore, and besides, she had a task she needed to do. She shuffled her feet into the slippers beside her bed, and said, "I'm going to the bathroom, I'm going to get dressed, and then I'm going to the spa."

She turned in the door of the bathroom and saw that Yukawa had left the couch. That expression, well, that was frustration, so Utsumi bent a little. She said, "What if I joined you later?"

He nodded and turned away.

\-----  
'accumulation'  
\-----

Finding him later was much easier than she expected, once she remembered that she could just call him. She hadn't expected for him to answer, but he'd assured her that he'd been taking a break. 

The hillside was prepared especially for beginners, a gradual incline at the top with generous flat space which gave way to more steep angles near the bottom, much like the slope she'd been convinced to try out on skis, and like that slope, it was surrounded by spindly trees close by, with dense evergreens in the distance. They were weighed down with snow, white and other-worldly.

He'd mentioned that he'd chosen this sport specifically because, unlike skiing, it didn't require the use of his damaged arm, and watching him carve curves into the snow, her gloved hand over her eyes to guard against the glare of white, she could see that wasn't strictly true. His arms weren't getting as much of a workout as his lower body, but they were still essential to his balance. He was easy to pick out, despite how practically every defining feature of him, except for his height, was disguised by the lightweight weather gear of goggles over a knit cap, parka, and insulated pants. He moved on the snow like he owned it, blatant power and skill. Watching him made her throat close up, an impending sign of tears, for no reason that she had control over. She set her mouth into a hard line and waved her arm until Yukawa swooped in close, graceful and practiced, coming to a gradual sliding stop a little away from her, and completely oblivious to the slow deterioration of her ability to deal.

She said, as she stepped cautiously across the snow to him, "I'm going back."

Yukawa adjusted the goggles up onto his head, above his eyes. Utsumi pulled her coat tighter around her: the wind chill had become more acute.

Yukawa said, "You’ve just arrived." He unbuckled the straps across his chest that had secured his backpack and swung it down to the snow, where it sagged down at his feet.

"There's really nothing for me to do here -- I can't join you, though you looked like you were having fun and that's good, but -- "

"If you're going back, I'll go with you. I'm done."

"But you still have plenty of light. For awhile, at least."

He appeared to be considering it, but she could see the moment he made his decision in the drop of his gaze and small shake of his head.

"We can go back. Was there something you wanted to do now?" He bent down to work the fastenings of his feet loose.

"Take a nap, maybe." It wasn't a serious comment, but there was a small part of her that longed for the oblivious dark of one. She got his unexpected attention with that. The way his face went still, and slight narrowing of his eyes, made her draw her mouth up into a smile that had all the razor sharpness of a filing from a drilled piece of metal. "I never did like being a tourist on vacation, going and going," she explained, tone brittle.

"Something in which we differ," Yukawa remarked. "That attitude seems rather contrary to your nature."

She didn't have an answer to that rub, so she just stared him down until he shrugged, an infinitesimal lift to one shoulder, and then looked down. He snapped the last fastening away and stepped off the board. He said, "It makes sense that you wouldn't want to rush. I don't want to, either."

"It's a weekend getaway. I don't like the idea of packing each day so full that you then have to recover from it." Utsumi watched as Yukawa took his goggles off and stored them in the backpack, and took out his phone to place it in his pants pocket. "I don't mind one activity a day if you have time, but no thanks to wearing yourself out. That was the point, wasn't it? I could rest? Just one thing at a time."

"Are you sure you'll be satisfied with just rest?" he asked, and Utsumi kicked at the snow under her in an unconscious action -- he was looking at her, and his tone was, as far as she could tell, not meant to be confrontational, but the comment still needled her. 

"Why not?" she answered. "Kusanagi-san has been counseling me to not work too hard."

Yukawa swung the backpack over one shoulder, and picked the snowboard up by hooking his fingers into one of the foot grips. Stood on its end, it was almost as tall as Utsumi, but that resting state didn't last long as Yukawa hauled it up and started off in the direction of the chair lifts.

Utsumi caught up with him, making sure to hold her arms out as counterbalance, feeling a little like a child again, pretending to be a bird. There were patches of slick packed ice, no matter how well groomed the slope was. "How about you, Sensei; is this restful? How -- how is your arm?"

"To me, yes. Physical activity clears the mind."

"Well then, good for you."

"So," Yukawa started, and Utsumi darted a look at him. "The reason you decided to join me on this trip had everything to do with monitoring me, didn't it?"

Utsumi stopped, much too abruptly for what was under her feet. She wobbled, just a little bit, but managed to keep steady. Yukawa turned to face her, propping his board into snow that crunched in objection.

"Don't you think I've been doing a really poor job of it, if that's the case? I mean -- "

"That's because of something else. You're not the only one Kusanagi has shared his concerns with. He has been worried about you, ever since -- " He stopped, and his jaw clenched, as if he hadn't intended invoking that memory. Utsumi tilted her head, waiting, but when he didn't continue, she ignored every part of her that was warning her not to pick up that dropped topic. It wasn't wise, because she could feel hysteria bubbling, threatening to overflow past controlled anger into blubbering meltdown. Whatever prompted her to go with her instincts and put voice to what he'd insinuated surely came from some stupid part of her that she'd have to examine and have a stern talking-to later.

She said, "Ever since you ended up in the hospital, almost dead from blood loss. Yes, I know. I was there, and since when have you decided to be delicate about what happened? Really, Sensei, I don't need you to be tip-toeing around, like you're some kind of therapist. I doubt Kusanagi-san failed to mention that, right? That he made me see one?" Her breathing was far too labored now, like she had been on the slopes, rather than he.

"Yes."

"So you know that I went. You asked what I wanted to do, right?"

"Yes."

"Don't ask me, please. I'm not prepared to talk about that with you, even if you've already shared everything that happened with you and Sugiyama in my apartment. I don't want -- " She covered her face with her hand, closing her eyes, and, unbidden, she saw Yukawa, slumped, soaked in blood. She snapped her eyes open, but the afterimage persisted for one insane moment, overlaid on the Yukawa of now, and then it was gone. She said, "You know what I'd like? Let's go back, eat dinner, maybe go for a walk. That's what I want."

Yukawa nodded. He said, tone mild and benevolent, "What would you like to eat?" She looked sidelong at him, trying to figure out if he was actually finished broaching this subject. It occurred to her that he could just be regrouping for another attack, but for the moment she would take what she could get, even if that was awkward conversation, because that was safe and normal, and she really, perhaps, should set up another therapy appointment once she was home again. Then. She wasn't going to call today. It would just have to wait until then.

\-----

The resort, while beautiful during the day, was more so at night. Trees around the cabins had been decorated with fairy lights. On their way out to eat, having gone back to their room from the slopes, Utsumi had asked, "Do you think it's for Christmas or is it always like this?" The air was cold enough for breath to be visible.

"For the holiday," he'd answered, as if it were obvious. She'd pointed out that she wouldn't know; he was the one that had been here before. She'd said that she hadn't been able to appreciate it enough when they had arrived, and the set of his shoulders had relaxed a little.

Now, the sky was much darker than it had been then, but it was just a different sort of beauty. Utsumi tilted her head back and closed her eyes. The night air was still. She said, "Hear that? Isn't that quiet peaceful? This is what I like about winter."

"It's good to see you enjoying it," Yukawa answered.

Utsumi smiled, and swung her arms at her sides. She turned and started walking backward, the path already a little familiar, having been on it several times since arriving. She said, "Dinner was nice. It put me in a better mood."

"I would attribute that to the wine."

"Maybe a little. I'm sorry if I've been stubborn."

"Your time is yours to do with as you like, and you took me at my word. You don't need to apologize for that; it's unnecessary."

"At least you didn't say it was illogical this time." Utsumi grinned, pausing in her backward walk to lean forward at her waist. Her hair swung down past her shoulders, but not into her eyes, because she'd pinned her fringe into a twist at the crown of her head. She straightened up, a little wobbly, and Yukawa moved closer, taking a hand out of his pocket. Utsumi said, tilting her head to the side, her mouth quirking as well, in a manner that was plainly meant to be patronizing, "I'm only tipsy, not falling-down drunk."

"So all advice to be careful would be -- "

"Illogical," she said, pitching her voice low and serious, but she dissolved into giggles as soon as she was done. She covered her mouth, trying to contain them.

"You can't hold your liquor."

She nodded, vigorously, which was, perhaps, not the wisest of choices. "I'm a silly drunk."

"There are worse ways to react to alcohol."

"I can't hold it, but it also doesn't last long, not at this level." She lifted a finger, then let it fall. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be back to normal. Say, Sensei, I was wondering, what does it take to learn how to snowboard?"

"A good sense of balance and flexibility. Too many accidents happen when the legs are held locked and rigid."

"I remember that was important to skiing as well. I confess, I couldn't get the hang of that, but it didn't matter at the time."

"Why was that?"

"I was trying to impress my boyfriend -- or he was trying to impress me -- I don't really remember. Come to think of it, he was a bit of a nerd like you, just about different things. He knew everything about skiing you could possibly ask." She looked at the ground, and turned in a circle, just to watch how the world spun in slow-motion gaussian streaks.

"And you?" Yukawa prompted, voice bemused.

"And I asked a lot of questions. He taught me how to fall, you know, so that I wouldn't break my hands."

"I see." Yukawa's voice had lost the bemusement and gone a bit cold and distant. Utsumi looked up to check if she'd perhaps drifted too far from him, but no, he was still close.

"I remember," she said, "that the first piece of advice he told me was," -- she dropped her tone again and affected an accent much different from her own -- " 'you gotta guard against the UV out there on the snow; it'll make you blind, y'know'. Your goggles reminded me of that. Is there anything you're not good at?" She clasped her hands, and turned so that she fell in step beside him again. The lights were so pretty, glittering off the snow and the path in front of them, black and wet. At least they had missed the freezing rain while they had been inside. She almost didn't notice that Yukawa was taking longer than usual to answer. She angled herself toward him, to find that he was looking at her, contemplation in his eyes. Her voice squeaked a little as she asked, "Sensei?"

He turned his head away, stepping ahead of her, and for a moment Utsumi considered crossing in front of his path so she could get a clear look at his face. Before she could do it, he'd entered hers, standing before her. She stopped, her mouth parting, mist floating away. Yukawa said, "Yes. I'm not very good at communicating with you."

He turned his back to her, moving away, as she stayed where she was, staring straight ahead. He said, into the silence that had encompassed them both, "I'm tired. Perhaps we should return."

She nodded, and he reversed direction, going ahead. She caught up to him after a few seconds.

They neared the cabin, and Utsumi said, "Would you like to change for bed first?"

"That will be fine."

Utsumi nodded. She'd stayed behind as they'd walked, and at the two supports to the covered porch on each side of the path, Yukawa hesitated. He said, as he stepped across onto the wood of the porch, "Careful, there's ice -- " The warning came too late as Utsumi stepped down on it. Her foot slid out from under her, and she pinwheeled with one arm and reached out with the other, which encountered Yukawa's outstretched arm, and clutched onto his sleeve, slipping down to his hand, which came around hers in a tight grip. It was futile; she was already falling, and she gave a little screech when her lower center of gravity managed to pull Yukawa along with her. She landed on her bottom. Yukawa landed on one knee, still holding Utsumi's arm. The momentum and angle forced their heads to knock together, a ridiculous, painful occurance. Utsumi heard Yukawa make a small sound, and she couldn’t help but say, "Ow."

They stayed there on the ground, in the positions they'd fallen in, rigid until Utsumi said, voice awed, "So we managed it."

"Managed what?"

"To knock heads together. Literally." She smiled, pleased with her observation.

He scowled displeasure, and the sight of it cracked something in her, some obstruction she wasn't aware she had, and she exclaimed,"Your face, Sensei!" and then burst into howling laughter. She bent over and Yukawa let go of her. He brought his knee down to the ground and sat back on his heels. She caught glimpses of him through the tears that came unbidden to her eyes. It only added to her reaction, that dismay there in the arch of his eyebrows, but she didn't seem to be able to care that she was possibly, probably, overreacting.

"We should go inside," was all he said, as she subsided, wiping the tears away. Looking at him, though, to check if he was upset, told her the opposite. All she saw there was a curious sort of wonderment, so she relaxed a bit, content to nod in agreement. Yukawa offered his hand, and Utsumi took it. They clambered up, cautiously. She touched her hand to her forehead and Yukawa asked, "Are you all right?"

"I think I'll feel it more in the morning. It's not winter if you don't slip at least once." She probed a little at the point of impact and winced. Perhaps she'd spoken too soon. "How about you?" She looked at him, saw a brief furrowing of his eyebrows, and then she saw how he'd pressed his arm close to his body and was massaging it with his other hand.

He said, "It's been a long day."

"I pulled on it; I'm sorry, Sensei." The horror in her voice was as hollow as the hole that had seemed to open in her stomach. She felt... she shouldn't have drunk so much.

"Once inside, we'll both feel better," he answered.

"I'll get you some ice, I promise." It came out fervent and pleading, but all Yukawa did was nod, and then turn away.

Utsumi ducked her head, more tears threatening, much less welcome than before. She blinked until the urge passed.

\-----  
'when the load exceeds the strength'  
\-----

"Utsumi-kun!"

'Sensei,' Utsumi thought, intending to say, but it hadn't come out her mouth. She frowned, at that, into complete black. She couldn't move; she felt immobilized, but without fear. She tried to answer, but words wouldn't come, her mouth frozen. He called her name again, acute on his tongue, and she tried again, to no effect. She'd gone to bed, and she'd rolled over, and seen him in his own bed, a dark long lump, and she'd closed her eyes... ah, it was just sleep that held her.

Her voice came back before she opened her eyes, before full awareness of her body returned, sleep peeling away like sunburned skin, consciousness returning like swimming up to the surface and taking a much-needed breath. "I woke you up, didn't I?" Sleep made her speech mush-mouthed, but she couldn't summon the effort needed to make it more clear. 

His voice, however, broke through her daze, glacial and contained. "And now you're awake. Finally."

She could see him now, a dim outline sitting on the floor beside her bed. He only ever sounded like that when --

"It's not like you to sound so worried, Sensei."

"You -- you were having a nightmare."

"PTSD. Not gone yet." She couldn't really see the finer details of his features, not in this light, and the words were easier to say because of it. Her voice sounded abstracted, however, preternaturally calm. She tried to bring her hand up to rub at her eyes, to bring movement back into a body that still felt motionless under the grip of sleep, but encountered resistance for a second, a second in which her body jolted in recognition of a startling fact. He'd been holding her hand.

"Why -- " she started to say, and he let go, and sat back.

"I'm sorry," he said, and stood, and in the dark something flipped in her perception, a distortion that roared up from the same place as her nightmares and clawed her under, into an uncontrollable and insensible panic. She gasped, a long, drawn-in, ragged gulp that pierced through the silence, and she reached forward, almost slipping off the bed. Yukawa's form froze. She'd taken hold of a fold of his pants, but it was a weak grasp, her grip not what it should be because of sleep. She wasn't strong enough to keep him there, he'd go and she wouldn't -- 

He reached down to her hand, bending over, and loosening her grip. She scrabbled for a hold, turning her hand over to clutch at his. "Please," she said. "Don't go."

His fingers were across the inside of her wrist, as were hers to his, and the touch was a tiny point of focus in the dark -- not enough, but something. Her fear made her feel blind.

"I wouldn't," he said. 

"Sensei..."

"Yes?"

"I can't -- I can't see --" she gasped again, and clamped her mouth shut.

His voice was low. "Do you want me to turn on the light?"

She shook her head, felt her hand shake, the stress from holding her arm out and keeping him there trembling down into it. "Too bright."

"The blinds?"

"Please."

He said, "Just a moment," and she forced herself to release him, watched him moving, and she noticed that she'd begun to rock, back and forth -- it seemed impossible to stop -- but Yukawa's voice cut through the ringing in her ears. He said, "I'm here, I'm opening the blinds. Just one minute." The blinds were loud as they were drawn up, and Utsumi covered her ears, and closed her eyes, because that wasn't the right thing -- it was worse --

"Utsumi." His voice was very near, very gentle, and Utsumi opened her eyes, her ears still covered. Yukawa said, "Utsumi, I've opened them, are you all right?"

"No," she answered, and then she lunged forward, throwing her arms around his middle, surprising him into keeping his arms clear. He didn't move for a moment, and then his arms settled around her shoulders, and she took another shuddering breath, and another, letting them out with the same force, uncontrollable. At first all she could hear was herself, sobbing, unaccountably dry-eyed, her forehead pressed to Yukawa's collarbone, holding on to him like he would turn to vapor in her arms.

Nothing else mattered but keeping him close, the instinct so overwhelming that it rendered everything else inconsequential. It seemed a long time before her sobs settled down, but they did.

"Do you still not want to talk about it?" Yukawa asked, tone deliberately light, but she still heard an acerbic note to it, which wasn't too hard to figure out as chastisement. Utsumi made a weak effort to laugh, but it was still too close to being a sob. She felt, rather than heard, the long breath he drew, the way he stiffened, like he was trying to steel himself for something difficult. He said, "You said this trip wouldn't be a good idea, and I didn't understand why -- it was because of this, wasn't it?"

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Even though it was high time she released him, he had not drawn away, or made any motion at all that would indicate that he wished for that. She tried it anyway, raised her head, and tried to put space between them, dropping her hands from his back. She expected that he would do the same -- instead, he did not. What space was between them was what she'd created, and his hands only moved to rest at her shoulders, almost as if he were preparing to push her away -- or pull her closer. Strange.

It seemed hard to find her voice in the thick silence around them, not quite knowing what to say. She kept her head bowed. She swallowed, her mouth tasting of old paper and the sea, tears in the back of her throat, and said, "You can let go of me now."

"And you'll be fine?"

"For now. I promise." She moved away, as his hands came down off her shoulders, tracing a path down her arms, slowly, lingering, almost, and she missed the sense of security as soon as they were gone. She wrapped her arms around herself, recognized it for the desire to still be held, and clenched her teeth.

"A pity. I was starting to get used to it."

"I can't tell if you're being serious."

He looked down, turning his head away, and then said, "You can assure me that you'll be all right if I get up?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

He stood, and she followed his progress. She pinched her lips together, to prevent the wobble in them, but she couldn't rid herself of the need to just cry until she was empty.

He moved around her bed, and Utsumi unwound her arms, and started to settle back in, pulling the cover up and turning on her side away from him, toward the window, prepared to stifle her tears as much as she could. As she was curling her legs up toward herself, she felt the other side of her bed dip. She flipped over to her left to face him, her mouth falling open.

Yukawa said, "I'm taking a guess, but I don't think you're ready to be left completely alone. This is as much as I can offer, if I may?"

The dim light allowed for little detail, but this one drew her attention, so despite her surprise at this most uncharacteristic action, or because of it, it seemed safer to comment, not on the complete strangeness of Yukawa implying that he was bedding down beside her but rather --

"You brought your blanket." It came out strained, but otherwise it held no other indication of how close to collapse she was. It was no victory.

"It's cold and I doubted that you would share yours." He looked down, and she watched his hand clench around the pile of cloth in his lap. He said, "Nor would I want to -- "

"I get it," she said, "you don't have to explain. I -- I don't mind." She laid down, pulled what she could of her cover over her -- there was little slack from his weight -- and held her breath as he settled down next to her, until he stopped jolting the bed around her.

She could hear him breathing, soft exhales that demonstrated he was at ease, and she closed her eyes, but sleep was outside her reach. Of course. It would elude her when she wanted it most. She opened her eyes, and stared at the outlines of the window and the grey glimpse of sky that she could just make out. She felt the last traces of emotional upheaval drain away, leaving her with the same flat grey lack of emotion that came at hours like these -- when nothing felt like it could hurt her, and if it did, then she wouldn't care.

"Utsumi-kun." The return of the honorific made her widen her eyes, but she didn't really trust her voice. She hummed, and brought her arm out of her blanket to rest above. She felt too warm, but she didn't want him to go, because he'd been perceptive enough for once, to know exactly the right thing to do.

He went on, "I have a confession to make."

She held her breath again, feeling all thought break down into a formless question.

"This wasn't the first time I tried to wake you from a nightmare. Last night, you woke me, but you went to sleep again."

"Ah..." she said, and there was nothing else to go with it.

"You've been suffering with this for how long?"

"I didn't want you to have to worry about me."

"You've accomplished the exact opposite."

She bent her head, snuggling her cheek into her pillow, and tucked her shoulder so that she could stay on her side with more comfort. It was defensive and reactionary, this instinctive manner of turning away from him, despite how she was still very much aware of his presence beside her, the way there was little room, even if they weren't touching. His comment made her reaction more pronounced, because she should have been more open, less protective of herself. He'd overcome it, or seemed like he had, but she -- she felt raw, still, unable to talk about it. It came out into her voice, in the chill that permeated her answer, clipping it down to mono-syllables. "It's recent. That's all."

"Tell me."

"What?"

He made a noise that was the closest to a growl of frustration that she'd ever heard from him, a sub-vocalization that came from deep in his throat. She curled in on herself more.

"Tell me why you kept this hidden -- "

She felt anger spark, and with it came irrational relief. Anger was something she could use to bolster herself. It was wild, but it was emotion, and it was welcome because of that.

"Why I didn't tell you? Why I was putting on a mask? Because you needed my strength, because it was you that went through the trauma, not me."

"We," he said. "We went through that trauma. You know that it's PTSD, and you still think it was just me?"

She stayed silent, absorbing the pain she heard in his question and recognizing it as her own.

Yukawa shifted, going onto his back, and she could have sworn that the air around them, the warm bubble of his presence went with him, leaving the air, and her, cold. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh, a frisson that made her feel like she had stepped into a freezer.

Yukawa said, "It is remarkably easy to gain access to information these days over the 'net, even when one is up in the mountains. I didn't need to resort to that, however, having already researched this after Kusanagi told me you had gone for counseling, and after he expressed concern over my reaction. You were -- " He stopped, and the quiet left in the space of whatever he was going to say was incredibly loud, like she imagined the mountainside was in the depth of night. His voice was the crack of ice-burdened branches. "You were exposed to circumstances that would foster symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder much more than in me. Sugiyama made it that way, when he prevented you from helping me, when he took you. He made you powerless."

There was nothing around her but a deep freeze, no positive emotion that she could call upon to warm her, no contrary answer to his observation. It was what it was, something she knew already. "So? You noticed that I wasn't well, but how long did it take you?"

"I won't argue that I've been selfish, but I would never demand that you be strong for me. On the contrary, I believe I owe you."

She was confused, trying to understand his line of reasoning. It was for only a moment, and then she understood the line of thought -- the debt of keeping him from killing Sugiyama. "It's nothing. I did what I had to."

"We've talked about that before, and that line of thought is untrue. If you're saying it again, it's doubtful that anything I can say will convince you. I hold no resentment over that; it takes time to heal. You have emotional scars; I have physical ones. I'm not an expert with this, but others are. If you think I'm in this bed because it's comfortable -- "

She felt something at that, an unforeseen stab of longing for an unnameable action, as if she could do something and overturn her entire world, but not knowing how. It was a fleeting will-o-the-wisp, unattainable. She turned over to face him, her left shoulder digging into the mattress, trapping her arm under her body. She said, because it was the only thing that made sense, "I know it's not."

"But you needed it, and..." his voice dropped to a whisper, almost unheard, as he turned again, rustling sounds resounding, "so do I."

She had to look at him, to figure out what exactly had prompted that, and surprise was plain on her face, but she didn't care. He continued, "I miss when you would hold my hand, because it showed how much you cared."

Her hand crept up to her mouth, covering it. She barely noticed as she breathed, "Sensei?"

It seemed he hadn't heard either, as he went on, "I don't owe you because of your actions in your apartment. I owe you because of your constant devotion in the hospital, after the initial attack and then again, after that. I have become used to it, to your giving of your time, and your physical affection, and if -- "

She held out her hand, unable to listen to more. "Stop. Sensei, stop. I'm not -- I can't listen to that right now."

Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness, and while before it would have been difficult to note the fine details of his expression, it was less so now. His brows furrowed and his eyes moved, gazing at her, and she couldn’t withstand it, not even if it didn’t hold any blame, just… concern. The same type of concern that he’d been, now that she could think about it, displaying since they’d arrived. Subtle, watchful, patient in waiting to see if she’d come clean, and cautious in making sure he was correct. She looked away at the same moment that he did. Utsumi closed her eyes, pressing her eyelids down tight. She placed her hand back at her side, and quietness reigned for a short time. She started to drift in that silence, finally at ease enough, at least in body, to entertain the possibility of returning to sleep.

Yukawa moved, and she could hear when his lips parted. Utsumi opened her eyes.

He said, "I understand. We've been forced into change and it's frightening."

His face had settled into somber lines, his gaze fixed on her. It should have made her twitchy, should have made her look away, but there was too much truth in it, a conclusion that rang with inevitability, and it held her in fascination. She nodded, a tiny motion of her head, that he echoed a second later and then looked away, rolling his head to the side. It brought the right side of his face out of hiding, the scar there almost invisible in the grey light.

She said, "We'll always have a reminder." She brought her hand up to... not to touch it, but only to indicate where her thoughts had gone, but he intercepted her, the side of his wrist blocking her fingers. She withdrew. She said, "That's what he told you, wasn't it."

"What's done is done." There was nothing but a quiet fierce anger behind those words, so when he reached for her hand she didn't know what to expect, and tugged it back, but not out of his grasp. She stilled when he said, "You wanted to touch it, didn't you? So go ahead." He turned his head, offering her the chance, his mouth stiff. He let go of her hand.

She hesitated -- this was not what she'd wanted to do, but now it seemed laden with significance -- then traced the mark Sugiyama's knife had left with two of her fingers. The texture of it felt no different than the skin around it, but the edges of it were defined. Yukawa didn't move, but his eyes and brows tensed, and she saw it, understood how much it cost, and understood it was as much of a gift as his presence beside her.

He opened his eyes. She said, "Thank you."

He said, "It will fade, as will our memories."

"Maybe," she answered, trying not to let cynicism color her tone.

"Maybe," he echoed.

She rolled back, welcoming the easing of tension in her neck as her head dropped back down to the pillow. Her left arm tingled briefly from having been trapped between her body and the mattress, so she lifted it, curled it toward herself, and then stretched it out beside her, before letting it rest in the space between them. It made contact with Yukawa's arm, and she tried to move it back up to rest on her middle, but Yukawa captured her hand in his.

She glanced at him. He was looking away, up at the ceiling.

She could let it go or not. She could let it go, but why?

She asked, "So you'll stay here?"

"If that's all right with you."

She looked at the scar, felt her hand growing warm within his, thought about the coldness of snow, and the fear of being buried alive, about the season, about the future.

"Sensei?"

"What is it?"

"It will be Christmas soon."

"What of it?"

"What would you like for a present?"

His sigh was that of resignation. "Nothing. What about you?"

"Nothing or, I mean, I could think of something later if you want, but..."

"Yes?"

"This is good."

"This is..."

"This is good," she repeated, with more emphasis, and squeezed his hand, gently.

It took a few seconds more than she expected, but he answered, "I agree."

"Sensei?"

"Yes?"

"What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"It's going on three o'clock."

"Semantics, Sensei."

"To sleep in. After being twice interrupted --"

"Me too."

"I suppose we'll take it from there."

She smiled, closing her eyes. "Of course." She slipped her hand from his and turned over, away from him. The pleasant coolness of the other side was lulling. She pulled her hair up from the nape of her neck and fanned it up above her head. "Good night."

"Sleep well, Utsumi-kun."

"Maybe we could snowmobile."

"One thing at a time."

"Anything you say, Sensei."

His snort was very quiet, but even though she waited for more, it didn't come. Her lips twitched up, and she buried her face into her pillow for a few long seconds, inhaling the coolness and the scent of her own shampoo, before snuggling the duvet to her nose. In the last few moments before her grasp on wakefulness eased, she felt the pressure on her pillow lighten and then the support dropped out under her again, like he’d moved closer, and she didn’t mind it. She didn’t mind it at all.


End file.
